


Tactique

by EgohaAhoge



Category: Warhammer 40.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-04
Updated: 2017-07-04
Packaged: 2018-11-23 07:41:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11398101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EgohaAhoge/pseuds/EgohaAhoge
Summary: This is something very old I wrote a long time ago. Sits unfinished on my desktop. I want to continue this in the future but make it a short story than something really long.





	Tactique

Chapter 1

Memoriam

Nobody bleeds like a Bludd. My family has been serving the emperor for years by signing to serve in his armies and preaching his name across the stars. We have fought xeno’s to heretics but our teachings taught us to never differentiate between the two. Serve the emperor in mind and body and you will be rewarded is what we were taught, but frankly I don’t care much for the man. I serve in his name because he protects my home, and our families always settle their debts with either blood or coin. So our fathers taught us to serve the emperor because he truly is the only one we can rely on. Neither man has woman, nor child have the audacity to stand their ground against compelling odds with a greater cause in mind. We were taught bravery following the teachings of the Astartes, and how to wield our souls against our enemies of man. By following our brethren in green we wield our fire like no other. Our names forged on the field and we were marked in the chapters of yore for our deeds. We knew no fear because without us. There would be nothing left to know.

I am a Bludd, and so are my brothers in arms. We fight for our planetary existence using the Emperor of man and his Imperium. Born in the fires, our determination and discipline knows no bounds because we are Bludds, and nobody will ever bleed like we do. After my brief years of service in the Sabbat crusades. I was taught that surrendering is a worse fear than death and I thank our fathers for teaching us such things at an early age. Being the third brother it was my reasonability to carry our legacy, but neither of my older brothers knew war like I did. What I lacked in physique I made up for in intellect and applied myself to my studies at an early age.  I wanted to send men to war and survive for our cause. Nothing beats firsthand experience because only from your mistakes can you grow as person.  My scars will prove my worth for I am a man of experience. I am always studying the old texts, reading how our forces through tact achieved many victories from unpredictable enemies. Zealously is precarious stance but our enemies have mastered such devotion. In exchange they have lost their wills and minds and only serve to be exploited by the ruinous powers. Neither cult nor legion can understand why the Bludds know no fear.

 We don’t need zealots, we need martyrs and men and through them we will achieve victory. Nobody can inspire like saint Sabbat and through her words of wisdom we took victory from the very grasp of the arch enemy.  For absence of faith is the mark of the weak. And I will study our lady in white, for our futures.

I sat up, and put my hands over my eyes and clenched them. I can feel the crust that accumulated at the ends of my eyes. My dreams feel like journal entries, all I can see are images and my own narrations to what I am seeing. I need to write these down; I might be able to make some money as a propagande at home. I checked the timer by my bed stand; I have an extra hour before I am supposed to wake for morning drilling. Well early bird I guess. I scoot over and stood out of my bunk. I did a quick stretch, extending my arms over my head and pushing for that liquidly feeling of relief. My hands fall to my side and raise my left to I scratch my chest. What time is it? It feels late but my clock says it’s early. When did I fall asleep?

I know the drills by heart, and I am physically fit but im nothing like my fellow soldiers here. I was born with a curse of natural frailty. My bone structure is to narrow and my height is least desirable. But I will show everyone here my heart is bigger. After I cleaned and groomed myself I put on my training fatigues one sleeve and ankle at a time and start running. If anything I had to compete in any sport, it would have to involve running. I am proud of my haste, my natural height works in favor of me. I have less mass to get obstructed by the wind and my skinny long legs can give me bigger strides. I just need to master my endurance and the only way to do that is to keep running. Being a Bluddsmen, it is rare to be included in the ranks and not have the natural fitness to serve on the front because our direct nature we put even the most disciplined of penal squads to shame. As I am running I see the obese that is our commissar. I think his last name “Maker”. He was scolding some younger man who was covered in some kind of paste. I didn’t pay any attention to it and jogged past. Nobody needs to crack our whip and our commissar is some fat bastard who just inspects our uniforms and deals with our trouble makers.

Rarely do I see him on the field, and if it I do it’s mostly drilling discipline into the hearts of our confused recruits. He is a mean but he is a fair man, and he prides himself with our almost flawless record. We don’t need political friends we need warriors, and he is a perfect candidate to strike fear into us despite his poor fitness. He will always side with us if misunderstandings break out and he will always speak on our behalf. However if anyone of us are wrong not only do we shame ourselves for rejecting the teachings of youth but we shame the name that is Bludd. I don’t envy the people who break the rules and claim oppression and rejection of rights. But this is the guard; we can’t afford to play nice. Especially against the arch enemy who will reap the life out of worlds. Service of the guard is voluntary on our planet; we always had willing names to sign up and there was no need to force anyone’s hand at something they can’t do. Experience is a very precious commodity to our regiment. I like that man’s heart but not his shameful appearance. Never do I meet his principle stick, and if I ever fail to meet expectations I request more attempts until I can do it flawlessly. I make sure I am not the dead weight that is expected of me. I do however enjoy being the smartest of my peers, including our redcoat justicar.

I start slowing down and take a breather from my jogging, I think I must have hopped at least ¾’s of a mile. I need to get better; it is a better record than last week’s performance; where I almost seized up from poor air circulation. I also think it is time to attend the morning thirty minute drilling session before breakfast. It says in our doctrine that this has been a tradition since the first settlers of Bluddmire. A daily routine before breakfast and a routine afterwards, a sound body is the Bludd philosophy of our conformist nature. I don’t agree with most of our direct traditions, but I can agree on physical aspect. I jump up and down a few times and start striding again; I almost completed the mile on the track, might as well finish before reporting in.

We take after the iron clad Mordians but our uniforms look better in comparison of color contrasting, not to mention our stylish berets. It’s a dark green uniform and black lining with silver a dragon head as our crest. Almost like our heroes who saved our planet from certain doom and trained our specialists in the way of fire. However we don’t share their natural onyx complexion thankfully, but I am sure our religious groups take pride in their body paintings to mimic our heroes. I was not alive when the arch enemy invaded and attacked the first generation of settlers. We only received swift support from our allies because of our natural enriched gasses that are vital for fuel amongst our ships and vehicles.

Those monolithic warriors of putrid smelling mint and spoiled milk invaded. We had just learned how true the stories of horror was and how ruinous the enemy is; metal giants of mutated warriors wearing stretched skin of men across their pauldrons, giving a pure gaze of sinister and greed which would break any normal man. The first week of the invasion was the darkest hours in our history, then began the great fire that cleansed our world and rid the cancer of ruinous intent before it could engulf it whole. Only because of our resources were we saved by the evil that lies beyond the warp.

The truth was absolved over the great gratitude my people shared towards the emperor of man and his followers. That was when the people of Bluddmire gave its service in the name of the Emperor and to bring the sword to its enemies.  The great man Pellas Mir'san showed our scratch companies of circumstance how to wield the fire and make our enemies dance to its warming embrace and showing us the cleansing properties of our gasses. The people devoted their lives to the brave Astartes that bled and died for our world. These stories were drilled into our very souls and the determination of those champions will live on through us. The people they saved from those who seek ultimate destruction. These are the reminders we hear during the sermons and are told of great fires that saved our very core; the eruptions of our great mountains purged the enemy encampments and melted all those who stood in their path. Stories of archaeological digs in dried molten and tales about the disposal of the crusted ruins. Intricate books on the history of disposal and how to deal with such fossils. At the very base of mount Vulkan lies a statue dedicated in his honor the [Primarch](http://warhammer40k.wikia.com/wiki/Primarch) himself who bestowed upon us his gifted warriors of fire. Their teachings will live on through us, the brave men and women of Bluddmire.

They taught us more than the prophets from the imperium; they gave better instructions than any imperial teacher, and showed us how to kill their traitorous brothers. After the great purge and the cleanup preparations began a lone boy who was told to be Baelif Krokhn, the 1st ruler of Bluddmire approached one of the green champions. He gave a rock as token of appreciation for his deeds and then the stories say the man kneeled down to the young boy and gave him a powerful gaze that would scare any child. He then said to the boy without changing his strong facial expression.

 “Nobody bled like your parents did. Remember that.”

He then stood up lowered his head to the young boys gaze and gave a heartwarming smile in which is unheard of in the many chapters that serve. That is when our creed was written in stone by the first ruler of Bluddmire who worshiped these titans of good. At that very foundation of our ascension was inscribed “Nobody bleeds like a Bludd.”

These are the stories we are told after every meal, so we are reminded to remain eternally grateful to the brave Astartes that continue to serve in our absence. It is our prayer, our way of life, our religion. Blessed is the mind too small for doubt. After what was known as the “after meal prayer”, we were told to report to the medical ward of the facility for a physical and update our medical records. It is standard practice to receive a physical every year after the holiday known as Solaire in the Bluddmire guard. It’s these traditions that continue to make us strong against those who are physically adept. My health chart said I have improved muscle mass by fifteen percent compared to last year’s checkup and I am lacking some essential vitamin intakes and was prescribed a pill canteen. I was instructed to take one every morning until the bottle was empty and to report for another checkup after depletion of said pills. I don’t like crutches; I remain abstinent from most things such as medical intakes because I believe I don’t need to take a pill every time I don’t feel good.

But I am not allowed to be stubborn if my doctors say I need to do this to perform adequately of what’s expected; I will take them, no matter how foolish I feel. I don’t know what the schedule is today; we have been stationed here on Herodor for a year a shrine world from I can see. We have been given the task to serve as a garrison until we are called upon to the front again. From the information that has been spread around I have somewhat a grasp of what’s happening on the front. There have been stealth operations against the “Blood pact” and the “Sons of sek” executed by highly trained specialist regiment. When I heard of this news I was glad to hear we have brothers out there who don’t rely on pure strength to win battles. Our training has always been full frontal assault we never did anything quiet except stealth landings and ambushes. Anything that utilized our fire core was always given positive results. Dark crispy ashes and a strong smell of promethium; We were born on such heavy aromas. Despite my obvious short comings, I do share a common interest among my comrades. I love to watch stuff burn; our cleaners really know how to “purify.”

Chapter 3

Training

I take a seat on the ground near the track and watch the other guardsmen converse and train together. I can see small groups of nine running around and repeating what the person in the front was yelling. I think these are physical teams. I saw one group yelling words and the people behind him had to say another word that went along. They were playing word games while synchronizing jogs.

 “Keep going, that’s it!”

I can hear the echoing of the yells across the yard. Maker was holding his principle stick and was yelling at a platoon of 12. They were running in place and hitting the ground and repeating over and over until they were told to stop. This is one our usual training exercises.

“I didn’t say stop, anyone who slows down or stops will meet my friend here and boy is he anxious.”

That always made laugh, how he treated his discipline tool as living thing. I rarely see him use it on anyone here. We have to stay in top condition and endurance training is very common amongst the instructors. However seeing as Maker isn’t an instructor, but more as disciplinarian these guys must have severely pissed somebody off.

“Keep going, I said keep going!!!”

This is going to get ugly. Commissars are very mean people when they are performing their duties.

“Oooh nooo, look at what we got here prinny! A bunch of lazy bastards who can’t complete a minimum of ten.”

He is starting to sound very angry and sarcastic, what strikes me as odd they could not complete a basic set. Who are these people? Anyone here who is a part of our regiment can at least do a set of fifteen if not twenty. Is this a penal squad he was assigned too? I know he often doesn’t have anything to do because of how well-mannered we are, so somebody must have gave him an assignment. Maker looks like he’s having fun. These penal’s are in for a ride if they don’t shape up.


End file.
